


Behind the Orchid Door

by hwe (plumroot)



Series: Love For Another More [2]
Category: iKON (Korea Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1930s, Courtesan!Donghyuk, Gang Boss!Junhwe, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2019-10-02 21:38:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17271590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plumroot/pseuds/hwe
Summary: In 1930s Canton, a scene of glitzy night clubs and lucrative opium dens, Goo Junhwe, the city's most powerful triad boss and drug dealer, falls in love with Kim Donghyuk, the city's most beautiful and desired courtesan.





	1. The Orchid Door, And Those Behind It

**Author's Note:**

> This is mainly set in Canton (Guangzhou), China in the 1930s, before and during the Second Sino-Japanese War. I picked this particular setting for many reasons, including [this drama](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/No_Regrets_\(TV_series\)) and the historical context (o!pi!um!). Accompanying this piece are two one-shots that I wrote previously ([One Inch of Love is One Inch of Ash](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13664865) and [Whether the Willow Can Love or Not](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14158689)) which fit within the timeline at varying stages.
> 
> This story falls within the reincarnation series I am attempting for Junhwe/Donghyuk, and is therefore why it is linked in the [Love For Another More](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1008132) series. This ought not to be their first 'life' in the chronology; it is merely what I have prepared first.
> 
>  
> 
> **Cantonese**
> 
> Now, to keep the authenticity and not completely bastardise the setting (LMAO), I have tried to include appropriate terms where it is not too burdensome. Most important and prominent are the title suffixes attached to names.
> 
> -gor (哥; pronounced 'gaw') : literally means brother, but is also used to also address males who are leaders or have more power than you in some way  
> -ma (媽; pronounced 'maa') : literally means mother, but is also used to address older women you are close with  
> -siuye/siu (少爺/少; pronounced 'siuew yeh'/'siuew') : used to address the son of (rich) bosses  
> -ye (爺; pronounced 'yeh') : literally means grandpa, but is also used to address rich (usually older) bosses  
> -zai (仔; pronounced 'zay') : literally means son, but is also used to address lackeys or younger men lower in status
> 
> Fun bonus: because this is set in South China, the characters _do_ speak Cantonese with each other. However, as you can imagine, once the Korean characters congregate... they be speaking in that mothertongue!!! This doesn't really affect the story in any way. It's just for your interest (UWU).
> 
>  
> 
> **Original characters**
> 
> There are a number of original characters I've created because there aren't a whole lot of Chinese idols to be throwing around LOL. I will list the notable ones here, so if you see a name you can't recognise and it doesn't seem like a Chinese idol, then you'll know they're an OC.
> 
> -Wen Zhang : Junhwe's right-hand man  
> -Wang Yongan : the second son of Donghyuk's sponsor while he was a courtesan at Peony Garden  
> -Peining : a make-up artist/stylist for courtesans of Peony Garden  
> -Zhoushi : a lackey at Peony Garden  
> -Mr Lee : manager of The Red Door  
> -Yunmei : one of Donghyuk's courtesan colleagues at The Red Door
> 
>    
>  **Not my last words**
> 
> The idea for this verse started from me wanting to describe a lacquered nightstand, and now over a year later has turned into an absolute monstrosity that I love thinking about but have a hard time putting into words (LMAO). I would like to thank anyone who has supported me in any way. I spend more time doubting my abilities than actually writing, so thank you for your eternally kind and encouraging words. 
> 
> I am posting this now because it is exactly one year since I first uploaded the prologue to the reincarnation series. It is also Donghyuk's birthday today.
> 
> This should be a slower burn than anything I've uploaded so far. Once again, thanks for reading and checking this work out. I don't know if I can be proud of myself just yet, but I am grateful that people are showing interest.
> 
> Once again happy birthday to my love, and let's hope I made no typos.

 

 

 

The year was 1904.

       On a feverish summer night in a well-frequented kisaeng house in Hanseong, a tall-nosed, thick-browed man from a former yangban family promised the rosy-cheeked fifteen-year-old kisaeng in his arms that he would marry her, and lift her out of her lowly status, merely something unfairly parcelled upon one at birth. Goo Yeonha had heard this ever since she became a kisaeng, and knew that no matter with how much passion or sobriety such words fell out of wealthy mouths, she would prettily play along with the lies for the night, and then meet again with these men moons later in the same room, only to hear the same empty promises. But there was something about this tall-nosed, thick-browed man, who had gentle hands and a deep, soothing voice. When he told her how much he loved her, his eyes lit up the same way they did when he recited his poetry and talked about his travels to foreign lands. For once, she wanted to believe. And so she did, in him.

       But four years later nothing had changed, only that Yeonha had given birth to a girl. Kisaengs were free, but this was only in name. For the man's family mingled well with the Japanese and thus retained some of their noble status, marrying lower was so frowned upon it might as well have been impossible. When the man told Yeonha one night that he could not keep his promise, leaving her with an envelope of money and letting go of her tear-stained robe for the last time, Yeonha was already pregnant with their second child, this time a boy.

       In 1910 when Japan annexed Korea, Yeonha was twenty-one years old. One night when Yeonha was serving an ordinary-looking Chinese merchant, not too unpleasant but not handsome either, on his first visit to the kisaeng house, Byeonyu burst into the room to tell her that Yeonha's daughter was having a severe fever. In the haste of the moment, the merchant ended up accompanying Yeonha to her home, where in seeing her two children he expressed, in his limited Korean, that she was very brave and that made her even more beautiful to him than when he first saw her that night.

       Yeonha did not care. She knew that the words of men were as hollow as air. But after each of this man's monthly visits, he tried to show that he was sincere about his feelings. He was learning Korean, see? Isn't he getting better? He brought toys for the children too. He did not mind that Yeonha had two kids. He would love them like his own.

       On the Chinese merchant's next visit, Yeonha told him that she would marry him and move to China with the children. She did not love him, and she never would. But she did not see a future in Korea, and at least in China she would be the wife of a merchant, not a meagre whore for the rich.

       In April 1911, Yeonha and her two children packed all their belongings into a suitcase and boarded a ship bound for Canton, China's boisterous port town. Her son, who had just turned three years old, gazed with great wonder at the vast water from the ship. It reminded Yeonha of her son's father, who used to say he loved the sea and its endlessness. It was then, when she began to see vestiges of him in her son. From then on, she could only cry. She wanted to love him, but she could not.

       In Canton, Yeonha arrived to find out that she was becoming a concubine. The Chinese merchant already had a wife. She was unable to have kids, and so was extremely bitter towards Yeonha's children. Yeonha could not understand the language they spoke, and her new husband rarely spoke to her in Korean anymore. He had succeeded in his pursuit already; the prize was his. Yeonha felt like an outsider, even more worthless than she did in Korea. She began to distance herself, locking herself in her room and only coming out when her children cried outside her door long enough for her to notice.

       This is history. History recites a certain script. Memories are true.

       Junhwe's childhood was sticky summers, following Jinhee everywhere, red bean cake, spanks from the nanny, being doted on by the same nanny, sesame pastries, not understanding why other children laughed at him when he talked, scraped knees, careful treads on the floorboards, a man who never smiled, and his mother, oh his mother, who dressed in her deep red hanbok and floral jeonmo, and whose sweet and sorrowful singing filled the dark hallways of the house. One memory: one time she saw Junhwe shyly peering at her from behind the door, and, with a sadness in her eyes that never went away, ran up to him, lifting and twirling her son in the air, her red lips and blossomed breath whispering to him that she loved him. She loved him so very much.

 

 

 

 

**1 9 2 8**

**CANTON**

 

Donghyuk sat on the edge of his wooden chair, keening in to the bright light of the cheap vanity mirror as he scrutinised his own bare reflection. He had been told that he had the cheeks of a mistress, high and naturally rosy, which made him the perfect courtesan. They are two sides of the same coin. When he reached up to touch his face, he discovered his hand was trembling. It could not stop trembling. He slid both hands underneath his thighs, right before the door of his dressing room flied open.

       "And who is it, but the prettiest person in the world?"

       Donghyuk grinned shyly as Peining bustled in, fumbling with her make-up and tools as she spread them across the table. She wore a cobalt blue qipao with gold vines embroidered across it, her eyes decorated with a rich green shadow and lips firecracker red. Her suit was so ignited, so astonishing, that it was almost traumatic.

       She stopped amidst setting out her array of powders, and laughed. Donghyuk was reminded that he wore his emotions too lucidly on his face. It was not innocent, it was not pretty; no one would love him for it. It was a weakness, according to Mr Yuan. And if a courtesan was to portray any weakness, it better be a façade.

       "Do not worry a bit, precious. This is a look I call the _peacock_. It is for me only." Donghyuk blushed, squeezing his clammy hands which he had pulled out from underneath his legs. Peining lifted his chin gently, directing his gaze back to the mirror. "Because tonight," her face glistened with a smile, and Donghyuk wondered if she could tell that he had been holding his breath this entire time, "you are going to be a phoenix."

       When Mr Yuan informed Donghyuk that his sponsor, a wealthy banker he had never met in person but received many gifts from over the last three months, requested a special performance from Donghyuk at his 45th anniversary party, it read as both a great honour and an oblique threat. Even if he practiced until his throat ran arid and muscles moved on their own memory, it did not expunge his nervousness. Not from the other girls or boys, who were far more beautiful and experienced, but from Donghyuk _,_ and _expressly_?

       Donghyuk must have been terrible at hiding his emotions, because Peining stopped combing gel through his hair to squeeze his shoulder reassuringly. "It will be fine, precious. You will be wonderful on that stage. I have seen you prepare."

       Donghyuk had never been much of a talker, which he felt bad about in the moment, particularly because Peining appeared to dote on him the most out of all the performers of this club, but he simply could not bring himself to respond. Instead, he smiled half-heartedly and nodded.

       "I heard people from _all_ over China are at this party. Tycoon bastards and their endless connections... But that only means this could be your big break!"

       Donghyuk had only heard stories of how some courtesans were fortunate enough to taste fame after performing once to the right crowd. He supposed words from Peining, who had worked in the industry for far longer, would have more weight. Nevertheless, the tight knots in his stomach did not loosen. She started patting glimmering powder on his eyelids. "Oh, look at you! You are too pretty to need to worry about anything."

       Donghyuk wished this could be true.

       The chattering audience came to a hush as the lights dramatically dimmed. Donghyuk stood rigidly behind the red velvet curtain, clutching the microphone stand and making sure he paced his breathing. Peining dusted rouge on his cheek one last time, and after just stopping herself short of giving Donghyuk a good luck kiss, lest it ruin her hard work, she nodded encouragingly before scurrying offstage, her heels comically loud against the floorboards. He was all alone.

       When the curtain drew back, a beam of light fell upon on him. There was a slow, collective gasp from the crowd. Donghyuk gulped and wet his lip, coloured like a fresh rose petal. His gown was glimmering red with white and gold trimmings, flowing past his dainty form to trail on the floor behind him, imitating the tails of a phoenix. When he moved, even slightly, his gown caught the light and he looked afire. Before the band started, or Donghyuk could open his mouth, someone clapped and awoke a roundhouse applause.

       Donghyuk, forcing himself to at least appear calm, offered a pretty smile. He tried observing the crowd, but it was not too difficult to discern who his sponsor must have been, seated in the centre table with his plump wife, adorning opulent jewels, beside him in a magnificent red dress, and Mr Yuan.

       The first note was drawled out on the saxophone, and the crowd half watched in astonishment, half returned to quick whispers. Donghyuk wrapped his slender fingers around the microphone, leaned in and closed his eyes. _This is the moment_ , was his last thought. Where a smile may welcome spring and a tear does lead the clouds, the sound from a courtesan's mouth silences the world.

       And so Donghyuk did.

 

 

 

The first person Donghyuk interacted with after his performance was Peining who, like a proud mother, practically leapt at him and embraced him so tightly he struggled for air. "See! My precious! You did so well!”

       Donghyuk could not help but break into a smile, despite his heart still pounding. As the curtains drew and the crowd roared with applause, he saw a pleased expression cross Mr Yuan's face. Mr Yuan was a sensitive man, but fashioned a permanent scowl barring unexpected emotion. The slight upturn of his lip gave Donghyuk more validation than any amount of clamour from the crowd could have. Feifei and Jieqiong, who performed earlier and stayed to watch Donghyuk from the sides, rushed over, squealing at his costume. Content, he draped his arms around the girls and they headed back to the dressing rooms, Peining fussing about the trailing ends of Donghyuk's robe.

       As much as courtesans were loved and revered under the spotlight, kisses blown to and frivolous cries of admiration modestly accepted, the dazzle faded with the darkening of the stage and ceasing of music. Ushered away despite commotion from the drunken crowd, the courtesan remained nothing more than a pretty secret, _as if_ genuine curiosity truly did hang in the air. It was all an act, anyway. But men opened their wallets for a night of make-believe, and that becomes that.

       For the rest of the night the courtesans relaxed and dined amongst themselves, their elated laughter and singing backstage occasionally deafened by noise reverberating from the ballroom, reminding them of their separation. How bizarre it was to be part of the same world, but not. To be loved, but never accepted. But the performers knew this and, unbothered, continued eating and drinking over song and dance. Donghyuk's performance remained a popular topic, almost everyone backstage making sure to praise the courtesan, who would still blush timidly every time.

       The party ended without Donghyuk seeing any more of it. Leftover cake, fruits, and alcohol make it backstage, but while the singers and tired club staff hover around the table, the waiters in particular making exaggerated mockeries of the rich guests they fussed over just to tease pretty giggles out of the girls, Donghyuk decided to call it a night. His sister was especially nervous for him, and he looked forward to going home and telling her all about it (if she stays up late enough, although he _knew_ she would). It was much easier for him to blend in after he removed his make-up and costume. The aura was gone, and with his head down like another lackey he was able to slip unnoticed through the crowd congregated outside the ballroom, not an eye batted towards his direction.

       That is, until someone clasped onto his shoulder very firmly, making him halt in step.

       The face was one he had seen before, but in that moment, he could not for the life of him remember where from. A tanned, rectangular face. Combed hair. Rather handsome. Strong mist of cologne.

       "I am right. It _is_ you." The man dropped his hand from Donghyuk's shoulder. There were many party guests milling around on the footpath, cars ready for their passengers and rickshaw pullers trying to earn a buck. Over the noise and commotion, Donghyuk suddenly remembered where he saw this man. He was seated on the same table as Donghyuk's sponsor.

       "My apologies. You must not know me. I am Wang Yongan."

       That's right; the sponsor's second son. Donghyuk panicked, quickly submitting to a bow to show his respect.  "G-good to meet you, Wang-siu." It was an unfamiliar situation; lowly performers like Donghyuk, whose name rang no bells nor did stir enthusiasm, were rarely worth the time of those they entertained.  

       Donghyuk felt hands around his arms, pulling him back up. "My. You are even more alluring up close."

       Donghyuk was unable to meet the taller man's eyes. "You are too kind."

       "Where are you headed to?"

       "I was just on my way home."

       "Alone? It is late."

       " _Siuye_!" Someone came running up behind them, looking thankful for having located them from the crowd. "Siuye, here you are! Let us go home!" cried the servant, attempting to hold the banker's son.

       "I am not," replied Yongan immediately, eyes only on Donghyuk. He shook his servant off him. "I am taking my beauty home."

       "You are too drunk, siuye!"

       "There is no need, Wang-siu. I live close-by," the courtesan lied. But to no heed, Yongan took Donghyuk's hand and lead him to a black car across the road, despite the protests of his servant, who could do nothing but miserably watch his master urge Donghyuk into the vehicle before getting into driver's seat beside him.

       "How annoying," Yongan scoffed, starting up the vehicle. In the dark, Donghyuk rubbed his wrist, where the other male had dug his fingers into.

       "I do not want to bother you, Wang-siu." The courtesan's voice was quiet and nervous, but he tried to maintain his politeness. It was all he knew to do.

       "No. Why would you say that. In fact, I shall ask father to hire a driver for you. Do not say anything more. That is that."

       An uneasy feeling crawled in Donghyuk's stomach. He almost felt nauseous. But was this what the others meant when they said sometimes rich sons would try to court them? Just for the fun of it? Just because they could? Donghyuk made no comment when Yongan drove in the opposite direction to where he lived. He focused on what he can see of the outside, illuminated by the streetlights. He was acutely aware of how fast the car was moving.

       "Do you like being a courtesan, Donghyuk?"

       Donghyuk fiddled with the fabric of his shirt. If courtesans were known for their honesty, they would not be courtesans. "I-"

       "But I suppose it does not matter." Yongan chuckled, lowly. Donghyuk was caught off-guard. He realised the servant was right. His sponsor's son was extremely drunk. "See, my father told me something once. He said we, as people who are well off, are in no position to judge those below us. People have to do what they can to survive. Like animals."

       "Wang-ye is a thoughtful man," Donghyuk replied distractedly, face flushed. He needed to get out of the car. Whatever feeling was stirring inside Donghyuk's belly right then, he knew it was not a good one. "I-I think my house is close. You can stop by the fabric store. Thank you for your trouble, Wang-siuye."

       To Donghyuk's surprise, Yongan abided. He pulled up to the side of the road, single streetlight ahead illuminating the shop front. Donghyuk was a long way from home. He tried to leave, but the door was locked. "What is your aspiration, Donghyuk?"

       "W-what do you mean?"

       "What is your dream? Surely you do not want to stay performing at that shoddy Peony Garden forever. Do you not want to have your name in bright lights? Be so famous that every man in Canton falls on their knees for you?"

       Donghyuk gulped. Yongan looked over, eyes in complete delirium. Donghyuk wanted to cry, he wanted to scream, but his throat was clasped shut.

       "You are a good performer, Donghyuk. Not great yet, but you have potential."

       He stayed completely still as the taller, and much stronger, male climbed across the seat, so close that Donghyuk could only smell the overpowering cologne. His arms felt like lead, so heavy and limp by his sides the entire time.

       "I will make you a star, Donghyuk," the banker's son kept murmuring into Donghyuk's quivering body. "I will make you a star."

      There was a strip of dirt on the edge of the windscreen. The fabric being displayed on the shop front was red with gold and white flowers. The mannequin wearing the qipao was faceless.

       If the courtesan's song is his life, perhaps his silence is his death.

 

 

 

 

**1 9 3 3**

**CANTON**

 

" _Kim Donghyuk: Canton's Flower."_

       Wen Zhang read from the illuminated billboard as the car passed a crowd, and then wolf-whistled. "I wonder whether he is truly as they say." When he received no response from his best friend, he leaned over his seat. "Hey. Did you hear me at all?"

       It was obvious that Junhwe did not. Engrossed in a letter from his sister, Junhwe shook his head slowly but did not look up from the paper.

       Wen Zhang spared a glance to the letter, and scoffed. "What did she say? Maybe I should learn Korean so I am not disadvantaged."

       "You can. I have nothing to hide from you." Junhwe smiled, folding the letter neatly and slipping it back inside the perfumed envelope. It smelled like Jinhee. "She thanks me for the pastries. She wishes I would send Hing-ma up to Shanghai, too."

       "And she could not have just called you to say that?"

       "She likes writing letters."

       "Did you tell her about Three Eagles?"

       "She knew before I told her. Not a surprise, though."

       "Ah." Wen Zhang was amused. "Her little birds are chirping. I forgot she still has her talon on Canton."

       "She would not be my sister if she did otherwise." Junhwe glanced through the tinted window. "This is the club?"

       "It is, sir." The driver answered suddenly, pulling up to the dazzling entrance. "The Red Door."

       "Have you ever been before, Yang-zai?" Wen Zhang asked, half-jokingly.

       " _Me_? Of course not, sir. The club only opens its doors for the likes of yourself.  There is a saying that if someone burned down the place on any given night, the sky would fall. Just because of how many important people there would be inside.”

       Indeed, The Red Door had such a reputation. A club notorious for its guest-list and exclusivity, where top secrets were shared and some of the most expensive trade deals were made. But until the recent occurrences, it had always been in the territory of Three Eagles Company.

       "Is this why you wanted to take on Three Eagles? So you can finally visit this club without seven guns pointed at your head?" Wen Zhang laughed, getting out of the vehicle. It was not. The rivalling triad had been getting on Junhwe's nerves for a while, their hooligans creating mischief where they had no business being. One solution involved communication. Another solution involved violence. Junhwe's solution involved the former through the latter.

       "Funnily enough, Jinhee said that too."

       "You should know by now that the both of us make up for the humour you lack, brother."

       The crowd parted as a shorter man in a burnt orange vest and trousers shuffled through to greet Junhwe and Wen Zhang, the new landlords. Junhwe spotted merchants here and there, even a few government officials. It was not an astonishing spectacle.

       "Welcome, welcome." The man's eyes twinkled. He shook Junhwe and Wen Zhang's hands with both of his own, bowing deeply. "We have been waiting for your arrival."

 

 

 

"Did you all hear?" Yunmei appeared and exclaimed quietly, excitement apparent in her voice. The others in the backroom paused to listen to the courtesan, who had dropped her usual chirpy tone. "He has arrived!"

       Donghyuk did not bother to glance up from his poetry book, letting the stylist touch up his hair and face as he retained his composure.

       "Who? Goo Junhwe?"

       "Shh… Not a name you should just throw around like that. Maybe add a ye to that. Goo-ye!"

      Everyone broke into hysterics at Chengxiao's joke.

      "I would call him Goo-gor if only he did not look like he could be my son!" One of the older ladies cried, helping Yunmei desperately button the side of her tight dress.

      Donghyuk had no interest the banter, but he was hearing it and unwittingly following along. Anyone would be a fool to not understand why the backroom were so fussed about the newcomer. Goo Junhwe: Canton's youngest triad boss. The scale of Black Lotus' opium imports currently put Junhwe amongst the most powerful people in Canton, directly rivalling the Three Eagles Company, the former monopoly on crime and extortion. There were rumours that half of those in the local government were already on the Black Lotus payroll.

      "We joke and laugh, but two weeks ago Junhwe forced Lim-gor onto his knees for an apology while that madman Wen Zhang held a pistol to his forehead. And you know Lim-gor; he never dirties his knees."

       The room went silent at Zhoushi's remark, the only noise being when Donghyuk, unbothered, flipped his page. Yunmei slapped Zhoushi on his shaved head. "Well, of course we are joking and laughing. If not here, then where would we. Stop being a joy-kill."

       "Remember who you are." Everyone was shocked by Mr Lee's abrupt entrance into the room. The man was short and had an odd-looking face, but his solemn voice raised hairs and quickened heartbeats. Donghyuk flipped another page. "You are performers. It does not matter whether your boss is Lim-gor or not. Whoever pays is whoever you serve, without difference. Also, he has mentioned he prefers to be addressed as Mr Goo."

       "Well said."

       All eyes turned to look at Donghyuk, who appeared to be deep within the words of the page.

       Mr Lee frowned. "Sorry?"

       "Oh." Donghyuk looked up, folding his book and placing it gently on the vanity table. "I was praising this poet. They have a way with their words." No one dared to make a sound. Donghyuk smiled prettily, something which only required a well-practiced movement, and got up, dusting out his robe. "Come on. Is it not show-time?"

 

 

 

When the curtain dropped, the audience automatically swooned. Ironically, there was no one behind it. Despite the line queued outside, the house was already completely full, every table seated with a notable face. Junhwe was told this was because today's headliner, Kim Donghyuk, only performed once a week. Junhwe had certainly _heard_ the name before; another Korean who had beat the odds and become successful in this cruel setting. But how spectacular could he be? They were seated on a random table at the centre, amongst the throng. Mr Lee personally asked whether the two gentlemen would like any drinks. Wen Zhang requested their most vintage Cognac. He could not stand the French but he liked their liquor. The manager nodded and melted into the shadows, just before the audience started applauding. 

       The performer appeared, something like a sudden gust of heat sweeping across the room. The glimmering red lace gown was an inch from licking the stage, curved perfectly around the courtesan's slight form. All he had done was strut across to his microphone stand, but his movements had mesmerised every eye.

       Junhwe did not even realise that Mr Lee had come by with their alcohol. He watched with rapt interest as the courtesan elegantly waved his arm, prompting the band to begin. Donghyuk started with closing his moth-wing eyes, tilting his head back to elongate his delicate, pale neck. He gently swayed his hips to the song. Before Donghyuk had even opened his mouth, Junhwe, like every other fool in the room, had fallen for the courtesan's gestures.

       It was the embodiment of a crimson fantasy. Donghyuk sang a song about longing, notes high and sorrowful. His tender body moved softly to the rhythm, gown sparkling with every tremble under the lights. But Donghyuk's gaze was what took Junhwe's breath away. Underneath the glimmering red shadow and thick dark lashes, the performer's eyes imparted a story of deep yearning, intense desire. How dainty yet feverish he looked, and how divine that was! How Junhwe's heart suddenly ached for him. Junhwe wanted to reach out and embrace him, hold him close and tight in his arms. Silky lips and pearly skin. A pretty smile that did not quite reach his eyes; nevertheless, Junhwe fell, hook, line and sinker.

       When Donghyuk walked off stage, gracefully bowing and sparing a few waves to his adoring crowd, it truly felt like an aftermath. It felt almost devastating. Another courtesan took to the stage; she inspired applause and stirred the hearts of the audience, definitely of a quality higher than a regular ballroom performer, but she was not Donghyuk. Junhwe sat lamentably and mulled over the Cognac.

       "How do our two bosses feel so far?" Mr Lee had appeared again, bent over and ready at the service of the two men.

       "I have been visiting the wrong clubs all my life!" Wen Zhang roared with laughter.

       Mr Lee grinned elatedly. "And Mr Goo? How did you like our headlining stage? Is this your first time watching our Donghyuk perform?"

       "He surely lives up to his name."

       The older man gasped, his eyes lit up. "Certainly. He is the most beloved and sought-after courtesan in Canton. If he were to declare himself as number two, no one would dare claim to be number one! A combination of profound talent and striking beauty; incredibly difficult to find!"

       "He is indeed very beautiful."

       "Would like you to meet him? I am sure he would be delighted by Mr Goo's kind words!"

       "If it does not trouble him."

       "No! Never! I have no doubts that he would _love_ to meet our two bosses. I will bring him right away!"

       The club manager returned minutes later with the courtesan in tow. Donghyuk was still in his costume. This captured the attention of the audience, who turned their heads away from the stage to follow the courtesan as he made his way across the ballroom. There were hushed whispers.

       "Allow me to introduce. This is our beloved Kim Donghyuk. And here we have, I am sure you already know, Mr Goo and Mr Wen." Mr Lee's eyes darted rapidly between the two parties. "Mr Goo had many kind words to say about you, Donghyuk!"

       "Please send my thanks to him," Donghyuk replied to Mr Lee, despite Junhwe sitting right in front of him. Junhwe wondered if this was part of the dreamlike persona he played. Yet, the courtesan was still wearing his thick layer of make-up from before, but his current expression was _far_ from the person he was on stage. He appeared irritated. 

       Junhwe sat up. "Please, have a seat." He gestured to the empty chair at their table.

       "Oh, no. I cannot do that."

       Mr Lee's round face was suddenly as red as a firecracker. Junhwe reached for an empty glass. "Then, may I offer you some Cognac?"

       "I do not drink."

       Wen Zhang coughed to disrupt the charged atmosphere. Junhwe was definitely taken aback by Donghyuk's frigidness, but there was a certain charm in the way the courtesan stared down at him, with his high cheeks and tense jaw. "Funny story: my wife says that too." Wen Zhang chuckled. No one else did. "But she can down baijiu faster than anyone."

       "Do you want to hear my story? It is, too, pretty funny." And without waiting, Donghyuk continued. "My sister's husband became addicted to opium. When he died, he left her with his debt. She couldn't pay it back, so they raped her and took her son. She killed herself in spring."

       "I am sorry to hear that," Junhwe said.

       The next thing Junhwe knew was that Mr Lee's hand was on Donghyuk's face. Donghyuk clutched his flaming cheek, but retained his cold gaze.

       "What is wrong with you! Who do you think you are?! Take him away. Zhoushi, take him out of our sight!"

       After Donghyuk was escorted away, Mr Lee fell on his knees, wailing. "I apologize deeply. Had I known that he was this exhausted and deranged, I would not have brought him to meet you. This is not how he is. I am deeply ashamed. I am sorry if he caused any offence. I shall see that he punished for his audacity."

      "That would not be necessary." Junhwe finished his alcohol with a final sip and got up to leave with Wen Zhang following suit. "You have done enough."

      Mr Lee nervously glanced up from the floor, unsure of what that meant, but he noticed that the two men were already on their way out. "How generous! How forgiving! I always knew our two bosses would be great people! Thank you, thank you, thank you!" He continuously bowed as Junhwe and Wen Zhang exited.

      Neither turned back.

 

 

 

They had barely made it around past the corner of The Red Door, after entering the Chevrolet, when Junhwe cleared his throat.

       "I want to find the kid. Kim Donghyuk's nephew."

       Wen Zhang spared a glance his way, before snorting. "Sorry, but I swear you just said you want to find that courtesan's nephew."

       "I did."

       This almost made Wen Zhang jump in his seat. He stared at Junhwe with confusion contorting his features.

       Of all the people in this tricky world, he would say he understood Junhwe the best. When a teenage Junhwe, dirt-faced and raging, said he wanted to make something of himself, Wen Zhang laughed at his pronunciation and then put him into headlock. But years later, he _had_  made something of himself; a nobody Korean became the biggest drug dealer in Canton. Gambling, prostitution, and now drugs; the three vices and one man sitting atop it all. Where Junhwe may have been too disdainful, Wen Zhang was the open negotiator. The inevitable threat still came, only afterwards. But where Wen Zhang might have fallen soft, Junhwe was ruthless. An eye for an eye? Not when Junhwe demanded two. That was how business ran; how empires were built. Wen Zhang knew Junhwe. One did not become the king of Canton by letting a _courtesan_ unnerve them.

       Wen Zhang was about to press on, but a sudden thought occurred to him. Might it be the one possibility…? He noticed the way Junhwe looked at the performer earlier in the night, but he really only understood right then, in the car. He smiled to himself, something Junhwe did not see.

       "I mean, chances are the kid is dead or in an orphanage somewhere."

       Junhwe perked, but maintained his fixed expression. "Does not matter. I want to know what happened to him. And if he is alive, then bring him home."

 

 


	2. Flower With Intention, Water Without Feeling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time no see! It has been a while. For the best experience, I would recommend just refreshing over the first chapter again (where I have changed some minor things) so this chapter makes more sense LOL
> 
> Even though we haven't hit the real ~rough~ stuff yet, I changed the rating on this story to explicit because of this chapter... w0w (let's not take chances).

 

 

 

**1 9 3 3**

**CANTON**

 

When Donghyuk awoke, it was with a start. All representations of his dream dissipated as his eyes opened to blinding darkness. Like a tiny swallow in the horizon, the flap of its wings becoming less visible as it headed for the clouds, this dream seemed to fade from his consciousness the more he blinked in his surroundings. All he could remember, even with a strain, was that he was stuck in the middle of a big, roaring fire. He touched his forehead, dewed with sweat. Ah, the sickly summer heat. It took him more than a gracious moment to realise someone was knocking on his door, and very urgently at that.

       The thin night robe that he quickly tossed on melted onto his wet skin like candle wax, clinging off his damp shoulders. Without turning on any lights he peered through the door-hole. It was a relief that the visitor was Zhoushi, a long-time employee of the club, and not an overzealous businessman audacious enough to think Donghyuk would welcome them inside. However, as Donghyuk opened his door, it struck him how late the hour was. He was barely awake. What could possibly warrant such an overdue visit? Did something happen at the club?

       "Mr Lee was assaulted! Near his home!"

       The words were slow to make sense to Donghyuk, who was still groggy from sleep. However, the gravity of the situation eventually dawned on Donghyuk when he realised Zhoushi was desperately catching his breath, presumably from having ran up the several flights of stairs. Donghyuk nodded wordlessly, quickly changing his clothes, before following his colleague into the car parked outside.

       "Where is he right now?"

       "At the city hospital."

       "Do you know who did it? Or why?" Donghyuk asked.

       "No. He would not talk. He looks as if he was visited by his great-grandmother.  I was hoping you could make him speak."

       "… How bad is it?"

       "… You should see for yourself." Donghyuk noticed the tremor in Zhoushi's voice.

       In their day-to-day lives, violence was not unheard of, and neither was it something to be afraid of, necessarily. So long as they stayed uninvolved and sealed their lips, triad hostilities and power tussles happened around them, and never _on_ them. The game-makers may change, but the constant players in the game, the citizens and servants, paid their dues and lived pliantly. Since Black Lotus now owned the territory, it could have been revenge by Three Eagles. But if this was an attack on Black Lotus, it would have occurred closer to the organisation. Why create trouble at the club? The club had nothing to do with Black Lotus.

       Donghyuk continued to ponder this until they arrived at the hospital, the corridors dimly lit and echoing as the two hastened along. When they stepped in to the ward, Zhoushi immediately ran towards Mr Lee in worry. Donghyuk approached the bed slowly, a figure shrouded in white laying still on it. There were bandages wrapped all over the Mr Lee's now indiscernible face, his eyes swollen to the size of plums. As soon as Donghyuk got near, the club manager's eyes shot open as if having sensed him.

       Bulging eyelids raised and pupils dilated, voice hoarse and panting incomprehensible words, he stared at Donghyuk with so much raw terror and suffering in his eyes that Donghyuk immediately understood. He knew, from the way the old man looked at him. And when Mr Lee raised his trembling right arm to point at Donghyuk, the stumped end enclosed with a yellowed gauze, Donghyuk felt his insides churn. It had only been two nights since, but he knew. Mr Lee's hand, the one that had slapped his face when Goo Junhwe was watching. This was not an attack _on_ Black Lotus. This was an attack _by_ Black Lotus.

       Goo Junhwe had done this.

       Mr Lee appeared to be convulsing on the bed, and Zhoushi couldn't understand what was happening. Donghyuk felt like someone had squeezed the air out of his lungs. The closing walls suffocated him and the small chandelier above seemed to be swinging. He mumbled something about not feeling well, retracing his steps out of the room despite his colleague calling after him, before stumbling through the corridor, hand clasped tight over his mouth. He could not remember how he made it back home.

       Donghyuk never saw Mr Lee again. Zhoushi went to the hospital a couple of days later and found the ward occupied by another patient. The manager's house was empty and no one knew where he had gone. It was as if he had never existed.

       A week later, when Donghyuk returned to The Red Door and noticed employees he had never met before, he learned that Black Lotus had acquired the club in its entirety. The owner of The Red Door had never been known to the public. Apparently, even Mr Lee had never met this person, communicating only through letters and the occasional messenger. Rumours said of rooting from old money in Nanjing. Some said it was one of the foreign millionaires up in Shanghai. But if the public knew anything for sure, it was that this person was very powerful. Many had approached to buy the club, or acquire some form of ownership. Triads and gangs had tried their luck, too. The club brought in copious amounts of money, and was becoming a symbol of the glamour Canton had to offer. People knew of the Paramount in Shanghai; they also knew Canton's The Red Door. Its countless imitations around the city were never as successful. Of course people wanted a share, if not _all_ , of the real deal. But all offers came to be turned down. In the face of triad conflict or political strife, the club operated as strictly commercial, never falling into the whim of alliances. If the club had remained independent for so long, how did Black Lotus change this?

       How did Goo Junhwe manage to get his way?

       The atmosphere backstage had changed. The courtesans who liked to play around and make crude jokes while getting prepared for their stages sat quietly and spoke with caution, wary of the stream of new faces coming in and out of the room. Yunmei, who normally sang loudly while applying her make-up, was completely silent save the occasional weakened yelp in reaction to Chengxiao affixing pearly pins into her hair, like a poor wounded cat. Donghyuk's colleagues, with whom he had worked with and known for many years, were exchanging their greetings with him so politely and stiffly, almost as if a distance had grown between them in the space of a week. Donghyuk assumed it was just a show for the newcomers. However, when he headed to his dressing room and found a stack of black silken gift boxes neatly piled in the corner, he realised why his colleagues acted that way.

       Goo Junhwe. Like every man who had stepped into The Red Door before him, he had taken a liking to Donghyuk. It was not much of a secret now. Donghyuk could tell from the moment he was brought from backstage to greet the man. That was usually how it began. But this was different to a rich millionaire merchant, or even the city mayor. This was Goo Junhwe, the de facto king of Canton. Now that he owned the nightclub, Donghyuk's colleagues could no longer joke around with the courtesan like they used to. What if a third party misinterpreted their friendly gesture to Donghyuk and told Mr Goo? He might not like that. There can be nothing good from that. Rumours had spread quickly about what happened to Mr Lee. No one could say for sure that it happened because of _that_ incident, but they would not put it past Goo Junhwe.

       Feeling a strong wave of repulsion, Donghyuk lifted the boxes and dumped them in the hallway. This was a normal sight, Donghyuk receiving presents after presents from adoring businessmen or married government officials who travelled overseas and came back with foreign souvenirs (one for their wives, one for Donghyuk). Being left outside in the hallway, usually still sealed, meant free for all, yet when the courtesans noticed the new deposit of tightly-wrapped black boxes outside Donghyuk's door, no one dared to come close.

       With a heavy sigh, Donghyuk sat down before the vanity but was shortly interrupted by a knock.

       "Come in."

       From the illuminated mirror, Donghyuk saw a skinny and tall boy enter. He had a pretty face, which was also boyish at the same time. It somewhat looked odd matched with the plain linen uniform he wore. "Hi. My name is Mingming. You can call me Ming, sir."

       "You can just call me Donghyuk. No need for silly titles." The boy nodded dutifully. Donghyuk rifled through his lip tints. "Did he send you?"

       "Yes. I am here on Mr Goo's orders. Mr Goo would like you to know that I am responsible for making sure you have everything you need. Should there be anything else you desire, Mr Goo would be more than happy to assist." Mingming paused breathlessly as he tried to remember the last part. His eyes lit up when it came to him. "Lastly, Mr Goo hopes you like the gifts he prepared for you."

       While hearing those words, Donghyuk could only think about Junhwe's face that first night he came to the club. Compared to other men, who loudly boasted and flaunted the reach of their influence, Goo Junhwe's air of confidence and conceitedness was unreservedly more dangerous. He spoke with aura. When he looked at Donghyuk through his dark lashes, Donghyuk's entire body tingled. And when their eyes met, Donghyuk felt disorientated. He felt trapped and powerless. It felt disgusting.

       "Thank you, Ming. Now I need to finish preparing for my stage."

       "Sir- I mean, Donghyuk… Is there a problem with Mr Goo's gifts? I noticed they have been moved outside."

       Donghyuk focused on applying the red colour to his lip, leaning in to the mirror. He paused. "Please tell him I will thank him privately if he meets me at my dressing room later."

       Mingming did not quite understand. He had been the one placing the luxurious gift boxes in the courtesan's dressing room. The room was plain and characterless. He stacked the gifts beside the mahogany couch because he thought it looked the best there. Why were they moved outside? And left unopened? But the courtesan was going to offer nothing else for an explanation, and he could tell from the way Donghyuk continued colouring his lips nonchalantly that the conversation had ended. The lackey bowed courteously, and then shuffled out of the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

       Owned by Black Lotus or not, the popularity of the club did not dwindle by any part, a full-house and a half pulled by only the mention of Donghyuk headlining the night's performances. The audience were ecstatic as always, bottles upon bottles of overpriced foreign alcohol coming off the shelves, and the applause and cheers only becoming louder the longer Donghyuk stood there on the stage in his laced burgundy gown, smiling and waving his final goodbyes. In a table amongst the throng, the same as the first time, two men sat and watched.

       Donghyuk never so much as glanced their way.

 

 

 

"May I come in?"

       "Mr Goo can come wherever he wants. After all, this is his nightclub now."

       Unbothered, Donghyuk continued wiping off his make-up without acknowledging Junhwe, who had walked inside and softly shut the door behind him. He held a pretty porcelain bottle and a bunch of white flowers in his hands. He looked as awkward as he probably felt, standing behind the courtesan and casually observing the dressing room. For a man so feared and impenetrable, it was a strange juxtaposition. But again, Donghyuk had seen men in all states. Even the most powerful ones had moments where they looked as pathetic as they were.

       Junhwe set the porcelain bottle carefully on the wooden side table beside the sofa. He kept holding the flowers. "Your performance tonight was wonderful."

       Donghyuk felt a shiver run up his neck. Junhwe just spoke to him in Korean. See, people like Donghyuk and Junhwe were not fools. They could speak in perfect Cantonese, assimilate with locals until every faint trait of their otherness vanished even under the hardest scrutiny, be loved or feared or, even better, both; but the one thing they could never be to these people was Chinese. Donghyuk knew this. The last time Donghyuk used Korean was with his sister. "Thank you for your kind praise, Mr Goo," he replied to Junhwe ordinarily, as if he had not noticed.

       The taller male appeared to quickly internalise the courtesan's shrewd response, briskly moving on and returning to the usual tongue. "This place is quite exquisite. Zhoushi tells me the clientele list becomes infinitely more impressive on the nights you perform. Indeed, I saw this for myself tonight."

       Donghyuk rested his chin on his hand, arm propped up on the vanity. Perhaps he would entertain Junhwe for a second. "Do you know why that is, Mr Goo?"

        "You want me to say it is because you are the most talented and beautiful performer in the country."

        Donghyuk smiled prettily through the mirror, and he caught the burst of hope coming to shape on Junhwe's face, just like how he wanted.  "You _know_ that is only half of it."

       The courtesan stood up and walked towards Junhwe. He took the bunch of magnolias from Junhwe and, without as much as a glance to the flowers, dropped them right into the rubbish can, the paper wrapping rustling as it scraped the sides of the copper. Getting to then watch the subtle flinch on Junhwe's face appeased Donghyuk. He cornered Junhwe against the wall, enjoying the slight stumble backwards and the way Junhwe seemed to try so hard to not shy from his cold gaze. The courtesan was controlling the situation. If anything was to make his blood rush, it was knowing that he was the one manipulating the other's emotions to his liking. Without a word, and with an expression that could only be read as bored, the smaller male fell onto his knees on the parquet floor.

       When Donghyuk's fingers brushed over the hem of Junhwe's woollen trousers, he felt the taller man suck in a breath. There. The sound of expectation. At some point Junhwe's hands, larger and veined, hovered over Donghyuk's working around the buckle. But as Donghyuk's warm mouth wrapped around him, his hands fell redundantly back to his sides. Donghyuk dragged his tongue along Junhwe, leaving a trail of wet red stains from where he had not properly removed his lip colour, a sight so obscene yet breath-taking that Junhwe could not tear his eyes away. Junhwe swallowed thickly. All he could do was watch, and let out a low growl as he rubbed the back of Donghyuk's throat. Junhwe thread his fingers through Donghyuk's hair, the surprisingly pleasurable graze of the edge of Junhwe's cold ring on his scalp drawing a moan that only vibrated back on Junhwe.

       Junhwe did not do much more, but it was enough for Donghyuk that Junhwe appeared almost afraid to touch him in the fear that his self-control would be lost. Junhwe's senses, which he seemed to hardly grasp onto anymore, as Donghyuk continued to take him entirely past his swollen red lips, would completely derail.

       Yet, he did not protest, and Donghyuk knew he would not. Men were predictable. Goo Junhwe was a man. Goo Junhwe was no different.

      Junhwe came in Donghyuk's mouth with a barely restrained shudder. While Junhwe was still flustered and breathless, Donghyuk stood up easily to dust off his knees. He unscrewed the bottle of baijiu Junhwe had brought for him, poured a half-glass and tipped the vile liquor into his mouth. He rinsed and spat back out into the glass, leaving it beside the floral porcelain bottle.

       "This is all you wanted, right?"

       He meant this about the gifts, the flowers, the alcohol, Mr Lee. Goo Junhwe was doing everything he was supposed to do, but for once Donghyuk did not want the chase. Nothing in this world repulsed Donghyuk more than the man who killed his sister, and he wanted nothing to do with such a person.

       The courtesan wiped the corner of his wet lip, staring at the faint red stain now colouring the side of his thumb. So if Goo Junhwe was not worth his time, nor worth even giving the illusion of a pursuit, then why did Donghyuk's heart race when Junhwe put his hands in his hair? Why, in that moment, did he imagine those very hands but on his face, trailing along his body, holding down his wrists?

       "Donghyuk-"

        Junhwe reached out for smaller male, but he was already on his way out, the door slamming harshly behind the slight lift of the ends of his robe, resounding wearily through the foyer.

 

 

 

Donghyuk whined. It took no time for the other to respond. Donghyuk cried.

       Donghyuk lay on his back, spread himself open. Donghyuk sank onto his elbows and knees. Donghyuk pressed his face into the bed. Donghyuk begged for attention. Donghyuk submitted, but little did the other know it was Donghyuk who held the power. Donghyuk, who gave, but only on his own terms. Donghyuk, who took, and took, and took. Donghyuk, who held in his hand the ability to satisfy the filthy desires of all the men who had ever glanced his way. Donghyuk, who clutched them around the neck and tightened his grip, when and how he wanted. Donghyuk moaned sweetly. Control. First, woo Donghyuk. Grand gestures, prized jewels. Those did not move him, but the chase did. Power was being the final object of lust and passion. Donghyuk was the game, but he was also the only victor.

       Donghyuk put on a convincing act. Sometimes even Donghyuk did not know when his own performance ended.

       When they finished, Donghyuk found that his robe was ripped earlier. He expressed his irritation by sighing loudly. That was a genuine emotion. The businessman lay there, sweating, decaying, a fetid mess. Donghyuk, without another word, got up from the bed to clean himself.

       To live with such self-hatred sometimes felt like enough power in itself.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...... yes. I'm trying to make the characters /complex/
> 
> Let's see how well that goes uwu...

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


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